


building your girl's second story

by august_songs



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Coffee Shops, Crush at First Sight, Dating, F/F, Fluff, abuse mention, here's the self indulgent maria/angelica nobody asked for, movies - Freeform, so I Am Here to make that Better, theres not enough femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:49:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/august_songs/pseuds/august_songs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria's never been patient; she opens the door and— it’s not a drunk guy, looking for his apartment. It’s a girl, who’s tipsy at most and probably completely sober, looking sort of confused with her hair up in a ponytail and fresh makeup. And she’s carrying— flowers? And a basket full of tissue paper?<br/>"Are you Maria Lewis?" she asks.</p><p>Maria is tired of boyfriends when Angelica Schuyler walks into her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to @iaintinapatientphase for writing a maria fic that was so damn emotional it prompted me to write a fic in which maria is happy and without a boyfriend. It's sort of spiraled from there and so here it is, the semi-emotional femslash fluff we all need in our lives.
> 
> Have a good time and please please please kudos/comment if you liked it!
> 
> (Title from Girls Like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko)

Maria Lewis hates romance.

Well, that’s not especially news. But this time, her hatred of romance isn’t going to sway. _No boys_ , she tells herself firmly, writes it down and underlines it twice, because she knows what that’s like, voices going from loud to soft to loud again in a second and white knuckles and shaking hands pressed against the IKEA table at dinner. _No dating boys, no hooking up, nothing._

Because there’s going to be some guy, probably, who’s going to be soft and gentle and romantic and make her want to fall in love again some time in the future, and because she _cannot do that._ Because even if, by some miracle, he’s not twice her age or married or easy to anger or violent or misogynistic, no sane guy wants to put up with a girl who has a panic attack when he bangs the table or raises his voice.

(Woman, she tells herself. I am a woman.)

Maria Lewis is tired of men.

She hasn’t had dinner yet, so she swipes the cold soup off the shelf and pours it into a cup, shoving it into the microwave. A little bit slops onto the counter over the rim of the mug, and she grabs a paper towel and wipes it up. She’s in her own apartment, finally, just moved in. It’s NYC, so of course it’s overpriced, but she can afford to pay for it with her newspaper internship (god bless paid internships, honestly, especially ones that pay a decent amount over minimum wage) and the waitressing gig she’s managed to get at a ritzy restaurant in Manhattan.

It’s not a big apartment, a living room and kitchen shoved together with a little boxy bedroom off to one side and a bathroom to the other, but it works for her.

(And so much better than the uptown flat that Hamilton lived in, stuffy and polished, or James’ apartment with the broken AC and shitty vintage wallpaper.)

The microwave beeps and Maria opens the door and pulls out the soup. It’s so hot it’s practically scalding her fingers off, but she keeps a tight grip on it anyways and plops down in a chair to sip it. The soup is half gone before her work clothes start to get really uncomfortable, and she goes to her room to toss them back in the drawer and pull on a camisole and some sweatpants. She’s not sure if she’ll be able to sleep tonight; there’s a vague haze of fatigue over her eyes but her brain is still firing quickly.

Maria plops back down in her chair and takes another sip of soup.

There’s a knock at her door, suddenly, and she slurps some more soup down before walking over to answer the door. It’s too late for this, whoever it is. Probably some drunk guy, looking for his apartment. She looks messy, she knows, day’s makeup smudgy and bra strap falling to one side, but she doesn’t care.

 _What if he hits on you?_ a tiny voice in her mind asks, and she replies (talking to yourself, Maria, wow, really the pinnacle of mental health) that _I can just shut the door to my apartment in his face, thanks. Cause this is_ my _apartment._

This is too much prelude for Maria. She’s never been particularly patient, so she opens the damn door and— it’s not a drunk guy, looking for his apartment. It’s a girl, who’s tipsy at most and probably completely sober, looking sort of confused with her hair up in a ponytail and fresh makeup. And she’s carrying— flowers? And a basket full of tissue paper? 

“Sorry,” Maria says, half-smiling apologetically at the girl, who really does look very awake for this time of night. “I think you have the wrong apartment?” It comes out as a question, and the girl shakes her head, curls rolling back and forth.

“Are you Maria Lewis?” she asks quickly, with a hopeful sort of smile of her own. And that can’t be right, she’s holding _flowers,_ and it’s _eleven thirty at night,_ and—

“Yeah,” Maria says, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Who are you?”

“Angelica Schuyler,” she says, each syllable precise. “Angie. From the support group?” It comes out as a question, like she’s walking on eggshells, and oh. _Oh._ This is the glowing girl from the abuse group that she attended two meetings of before ditching. The founder of it, in fact, really quite lovely, if Maria’s remembering correctly. (It wasn’t the group’s fault she stopped going, and certainly not Angelica’s; everything was just raw and bloody last month.)

She _did_ give Angelica her location, her real one, at one of the meetings, somehow managed to trust her with her new apartment’s address, didn’t expect anything but occasional newsletters would come of it. But— Angelica must have taken her silence as something else, and she’s started talking again, clear and soft.

“I’m sorry—” and it soothes her, just a bit, to hear someone else unnecessarily apologizing “—really did mean to stop by when you first moved in, two weeks back, right? But I’m in politics and it was election week for some lower-level people, regional boards, and then I had to deal with a whole series of rich donors who evidently decided it was time to harass the regional finances manager—” she looks genuinely concerned, like her late welcome basket is a personal offense to Maria, like Maria was expecting anything other then bills from this apartment.

She grins, bigger this time and real, because this perfectly put together girl knows her _name_ and was _looking_ for her and brought her flowers, holy shit. “Hey, it’s all good. Sorry.” Damn, apologizing every four seconds is a habit she needs to break. She’ll write it down sometime. “Thanks so much, by the way. This totally made my day. Come on in.”

Angelica does, thrusting the flowers at her. “Here you go,” she says with a grin, suddenly happy for some reason, and so Maria grabs them and takes a deep sniff as the other girl twirls into the apartment.

“Sorry,” Maria says, because Angelica is perfectly pulled together in a blazer, obviously straight from work, and she’s in messy makeup and sweatpants. “I must look like a hot mess.” And Angelica turns from where she’s set the basket down on the table and looks her up and down, matter-of-fact-ly checking her out in the way that girls do.

“Oh, no, Maria. You look nice.” Maria laughs a bit, self-deprecating, and Angelica sighs affectionately (she’s only known her how long?) and tucks some hair behind her ear. “Seriously. You can totally pull off the casual messy chic thing. New York Fashion Week 2020, here you come.”

And it’s almost definitely a joke or sarcasm of some sort, and Maria would feel attacked if it was said any other way, but Angelica looks absolutely serious and honestly it doesn’t feel at all like Angelica is making fun of her. It’s easy to just let herself relax. “You’re rocking the blazer and work nametag combo yourself. I’ll see you on the runway.” She lets her shoulders scrunch up, lets herself giggle and doesn’t even cover her mouth, and god, how long has it been since she’s been a part of this easy give and take with a girl? Maria walks over to the kitchen table.

Angelica laughs too. Her eyes are shut and she drags her tongue across her front teeth. “Anyways. I got you this welcome basket too, because we’re neighbors.” The surprise must show on Maria’s face because Angelica nods and half-laughs again. “Yeah, I didn’t know it either at first! I’ve just gotten a new apartment and it’s literally just two floors up.”

Maria feels brave, suddenly. At least brave enough to take a risk or two. “Well, maybe I’ll have to come and bring you flowers and—“ she looks inside the basket “—tissue paper.” Angelica laughs again, and Maria smiles, and they bump their shoulders together.

“It’s not just tissue paper!” Angelica says, laughter dying down. “I put a lot of thought into this, okay?” She’s mock-offended now, and Maria’s shoulders have started to tense in the way they do with most social interactions. The real surprise is how comfortable she’s been, talking with Angelica. It’s _so_ much better than the constant mental hell that is talking with guys. Just because she’s managed to mostly learn how to pick a path through those ones doesn’t mean they doesn’t hurt like hell.

But then Angelica laughs again— she laughs a lot, Maria feels— and nods. “I did, actually, put some thought into it. Here, I got you… some of that moisturizer-ey stuff that’s always on those cheesy ads.” She rustles the tissue paper. “And some cookies, but I can’t cook so I just got them at Hannafords. And some banana bread.” Maria isn’t by any means an expert at this, but she is almost positive that banana bread and lotion isn’t… standard welcome basket fare.

Maria thinks about cracking a joke, and then decides against it. If this is some sort of prank, she’s honestly going to die. “I love it. Thank you so much, seriously, this just totally made my week.” Angelica grins, and honestly her name is accurate because she might be an actual literal angel. Maria hasn’t felt this comfortable sitting with someone else in god knows how long— certainly since before Hamilton.

“You’re welcome! I’m so glad I could stop by! Even though it’s so late— what time is it? Midnight, shit. Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you up,” Angelica says, somehow managing to navigate from the middle of a conversation to a goodbye, totally at ease.

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” Maria says, awkward as always. “Please don’t let me keep you here.” She’s still holding the flowers, she realizes, almost crushing her stems with her tight grip, and she loosens her hold on them. They’re chrysanthemums mainly, she thinks, a spring type mix.

Angelica gives her an apologetic smile. “I have work first thing tomorrow, so I should probably get to bed. But—“ her face lights up, just a bit “—would you wanna get coffee sometime soon?”

And fuck fuck fuck, no, this just took a whole other turn. Maria keeps her face neutral as her mind races. This sounds romantic— could be romantic— she’s only just started her life romance free— _but she’s a girl, and talking with her is honestly fun and easy._ There are no rules against going out to a probably-just-friendly coffee with a girl. And she’s smiled more in the past half-hour then she has with anyone else in recent memory.

“Yeah,” Maria says. “I’d love to.” She sets the flowers down on the table and gives Angelica a little wave. “Wait— do you have a number?” Angelica nods.

“Yeah, do you wanna grab a piece of paper and write it down? 816-232-6491. Text me,” Angelica says, “If you want to.” And then she’s twirling out of the apartment again, wisps of hair falling out of her ponytail.

Fuck, Maria is so screwed. But It’s dumb to wait to text, and Maria’s never been particularly patient, so she’s not shy about saving Angelica’s number and texting her only a couple minutes after Angelica left her apartment. Does it make her seem desperate or friendless? Will Angelica be one of those people who doesn’t text back?

Angelica responds immediately, a friendly _hey !!!_ and Maria breathes gently and finishes up her soup.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually physically incapable of writing anything but fluffy gay anxious girls. Please comment if you can!

It’s another week or so, what with Angelica’s political work _(I’ve been doing a lot of stuff with policy lately,_ she says in one of her long texts, the kind that take ten minutes to type and about as long for Maria’s phone to receive, _thank god, I thought I’d be stuck in PR hell forever._ Maria shoots back something about her journalism internship and it sets them off on another two hours of texting) and Maria’s two jobs, before they finally find a date to get coffee. It’s not super fancy in any way, barely even formal, but Maria’s still stressing.

Stressing so much, in fact, that she’s been standing in front of her wardrobe for about twenty minutes now. She’s tried on and subsequently discarded a dress, two pairs of shorts, one tank top and one shirt, which is ridiculous even for her, because this might not even be a date. (Angelica’s referred to it as one, over text, a couple of times— but that’s colloquial, and doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a _date_ date. She’s not sure if she wants it to be one or not.)

_Well, I can at least do my hair_ , she thinks, and so grabs a brush and some hairspray, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and brushing the infinite stray pieces out of her face. _And my makeup_. It’s light, because this is casual, and she can apply the foundation-concealer-eyebrow-mascara-eyeliner-lipgloss that’s her normal routine in five minutes. Which leaves her standing in her bathroom with nice hair, and makeup, and sweatpants and a bra.

Maria sighs and pulls her phone out of her pocket to check it for the time. They agreed to meet up at eight, and it’s seven thirty right now and the coffee shop isn’t super close to Maria’s house, so— fuck. _Fuck._ The Forever 21 jeans she picked up last September are still cute, washed light blue, and she rushes out of the bedroom and pulls them on, tosses off the sweatpants, and grabs a loose soft shirt advertising some band and her boots.

The coffee place is only a few blocks away from her apartment, so Maria throws on her shoes as she rushes out the door, and sets off to Cats and Dogs Coffee, the agreed-upon meeting place, which is probably going to have both an extraordinary amount of hipster-type college age white kids and, to be fair, good coffee. Also, Angelica. The morning wind is brisk on her face and the air is sharp and crisp and almost minty.

Angelica’s already arrived when Maria steps in the door, has taken off her purse and her coat and put them over one seat in a corner table. She waves Maria over the second she sees her, grinning. “Ria! I’m so glad we could meet up.” Angelica does look genuinely glad to see her, brushing another stray curl out of her eye and smiling. Maria grins. She’s glad too, and she says so.

“Have you ordered yet?” she asks, grinning. “I haven’t.”

Angelica nods and says “Yes,” adds quickly, “You should go get one too, the lattes are to- _die-_ for if you’re into that.” Maria is, and so she gives a quick grin and nod to Angelica and heads over to the counter, stands in the short line (Tuesday 6 am isn’t a rush hour) and decides to get a latte. The girl at the counter has dyed blue hair waving down her shoulders, and she’s obviously been doing this a while; when Maria orders a latte macchiato, confidently but quietly, she shouts the drink back to the guy behind her a little louder than is strictly necessary.

“What did you get?” Angelica asks, when Maria comes back, holding her coffee.

“A latte.” 

“Nice! The lattes are really good, I know I already said, but…” Angelica is good at small talk, much better than Maria, and she lets Angelica’s voice float around her as she sips her coffee.

Maria nods and smiles. The coffee is just the right shade of hot. When Angelica drifts to a stop, she asks, “What about you? How’s the job been?”

Angelica’s voice feels like Southern air, like _soft air_ , as one of her New England friends from her University of Texas days called it. Summer air, so soaked with moisture that the fog rises off the streets, almost choking on the humidity, gentle on your tongue but with a palpable weight to it— that’s soft air, and that how talking to Angelica feels.

“Oh, it’s been great, I’m finally getting to do some actual policy work, which is what I signed up for— sorry, I’ve already told you all this, I guess, but it’s been really fun _._ How’s the journalism going?” Maria nods and holds up a finger, giving herself a second to swallow her current sip of coffee.

“No, no, it’s good. I was so happy when I got the internship that it was legit all I could talk about for, like, two weeks. And it’s… okay. I’m still doing mostly PR work and some other people’s interviews.”

It strikes her again just how easy it is, talking back and forth with Angelica, letting herself actually talk about something she cares about and having someone listen. Angelica is leaning forward in her seat, actually doing that active listening shit they always talk about in school, and it makes her feel like she’s… appreciated. Which is weird but very nice nonetheless.

“Yeah, I had to take off like two weeks a while ago cause I lived in London for a couple years, and now my resume is all fucked up because nobody here knows what the different London companies or whatever are. So I’m like, ‘I worked at whatever British really-big-company,’ and they’re like, ‘The fuck is that?’” Angelica laughs loudly, and Maria does too, bringing her hand half up to cover her mouth and then thinking better and letting it fall.

“Hashtag relatable,” Maria says, and they both laugh again. Now that she’s looking for it, she can almost hear a hint of an English accent in some of Angelica’s words.

“Honestly though. I mean, I like NYC a hell of a lot more than London, so I’m glad I moved back, and I’m so glad I could get back into politics— it was a miracle, honestly, what with UK and US politics being so different.” Maria nods along.

“Sorry, I’ve never lived outside of the US.” She laughs self-deprecatingly. “My biggest move was from Texas to New York. Which was some culture shock in and of itself, honestly.” Angelica’s face scrunches up and she nods along.

“Oh, that’s cool! Texas, huh? Where’d you live?” Maria’s not exactly the typical Texan stereotype, and Angelica seems surprisingly… unsurprised.

“Dallas-Fort Worth area. Honestly lovely, except for the politics. And the summer weather.” They both laugh.

Angelica bites her lip and Maria holds her gaze steadily on her eyes. “I’ve always… sort of disliked Texas? I’m talking from like two campaign trail stops there, though, so it’s whatever? It sounds really weird when I say it like that, I dunno.”

“Okay, Miss New York,” Maria says, shoulders tensing just a bit more, hoping that that comment was just a throwaway one and not an indication that Angelica’s opinions on her were similar to those on Texas.

But Angelica laughs gently and looks relieved. “Yeah, I mean, now that I think about it I really am the epitome of your stereotypical New Yorker. Hello,” she says, in one of those ‘20s over exaggerated New York accents, and Maria relaxes just the littlest bit, covers her . “I hate the South and… slow walkers.” Angelica is laughing so hard that she slips out of the accent, tongue pressed against her top teeth and giggling, one hand still on her coffee cup. “And New Jersey! And… fuck, what else do New Yorkers hate?” She’s _still_ using the accent, and that shouldn’t be as funny as it is. “Red Sox? I also hate the Red Sox.”

And really with a laugh like that, head not quite thrown back but still unfairly contagious and euphoric, who is she to _not_ join in and laugh along? Maria’s laughing too, obviously, one hand brushing her hair out of her face and then falling back down to the table. “Shut up!” she laughs, and Angelica puts her hands half above her head.

Angelica takes a breath to calm herself now, but she’s still giggling when she says, “Hey, wait a minute now—“ _still_ with the accent “—I didn’t even say nothin in the first place!” 

And this is _fun,_ honestly, she’s having the fucking time of her life, and she thinks it _might be_ a date-date and honestly she’s fine with that. She shakes her head, says “No. Angie—“ but she’s cut off by her own giggles. Angelica really does do some spot-on voice acting.

Angelica laughs again, but she’s interrupted by a yawn, and it calms them both down. She takes a sip of her coffee, and then looks at her wrist. “Fuck, I keep on forgetting to get a new watch.” _Rich girl_ , Maria thinks. “D’ya know what time it is?” Maria opens up her phone and. Well.

“Eight-fifty. Oh, _fuck,_ ” Maria says. They’ve spent a solid forty-five minutes here, and she’s got to get to _Manhattan_ ASAP. “I’m sorry, I totally lost track of time, I hate to leave so fast but I have to go over to Manhattan. My shift at DiLuggio’s starts in like two seconds.

“Sorry for keeping you,” Angelica says, blushing and grabbing her coffee cup to throw out. It’s Maria’s turn to ask her out, she’s pretty sure, if this was a date. _Do you want to go on another date with Angelica, or another friend-date or whatever this was?_ Yes. _Well then, ASK her, you idiot._

Maria blushes. “No, I liked it. Seriously, this was super fun, I had a really good time with you and your New York stereotypes.” Just _do_ it, Maria, she pushes herself. “Do you,” she pauses. Angelica is looking at her expectantly, and so she reminds herself she has nothing to be worried about, takes a deep breath and forces it all out. “Sorry, lost my train of thought there. Do you want to go to the movies sometime soon?” That could still be friendly, she tells herself, in case by some messed up coincidence Angelica is just the epitome of a clueless straight girl who’s brought her flowers and cookies and went on a coffee date with her.

But Angelica smiles big with her eyes all scrunched up, her dimples indented, just like she did when Maria accepted her coffee date. “I’d love to!”Her lips flatten out slightly, and Angelica smirks gently and says, “Have you seen Carol?”

And if she’s a clueless straight girl, then she’s the most clueless straight girl Maria’s ever met, and also probably gay. Damn it all, she wants to see Carol with Angie. “No, but I’ve been wanting to for, like, months. Have you?”

“I saw like half of it with my sister, but I never saw the end, and I’d want to see it again anyhow,” Angelica says, still smiling in that ridiculous way of hers.

Come _on_ , Maria. You can do it. This is the first person you’ve actually openly freely started liking in god knows how long, and she’s not a guy, and she makes you feel comfortable and happy. “So, it’s a date?” Maria asks. She can feel her cheeks heating up, her whole face going red.

Angelica grins big again. “It’s a date.” Maria grins, and she hugs Angelica fast before she can think better of it and then takes off running to the subway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next (and last!) chapter should be up in like a week. stick around for gay movies and an unbearable about of fluff. please comment/kudos if you want to!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is not nearly as long as it needs to be, but I don't have the energy to write a 20k fic rn, so expect a couple of follow-up one-shots.  
> also I Love Maria Reynolds, come check me out on tumblr: august-song.tumblr.com. I got deleted because the website is hell, hmu on my new tumblr.

Maria spends an embarrassing amount of time thinking about the movie date, about Carol. She and Angelica see each other in passing, say hi to each other in the stairwell and smile, and it’s only about two weeks after their first coffee date that they schedule the movie date. Maria is _not_ going to spend time on choosing an outfirt, she is _absolutely not,_ because it’s tacky and cliche enough already that they’re going to the movies.

This doesn’t stop her from standing in front of her closet with Carly Rae Jepsen playing, picking through every shirt and sweater she owns until she finally gets fed up with her own cliche bullshit and picks a shirt at random, jabbing at the closet with her eyes closed.

In hindsight, she thinks, grabbing her coffee off the counter and walking out, it was stupid to choose the movies as a date. It was just cliche enough to be pretty clearly romantic, but _oh yeah, Maria,_ you don’t actually like the movies. The theater near her house is just crowded enough to make her choke on her own tongue when she walks through it, and although it’s close and she’s not in the mood to take the subway any longer than she needs to at this time of day, she’s not too excited about going there.

She’s got her earbuds in, still playing Carly Rae because for some reason she’s in the mood for shamelessly romantic autotuned bubblegum pop, as she crosses the street. Angelica is en route also, as of seven minutes ago, and so Ang will probably be there first.

By the time Maria gets to the theater she is absolutely too worked up. The first rush of people flood in around her shoulders and she can feel them tensing, the tendons in her neck stiffening and standing out and her shoulders hunching up. And _Angelica isn’t here,_ fuck. She doesn’t want to do this, if Angelica ditched on her she’s going to cry, she can’t get this worked  up in public— someone taps on her shoulder and she schools her face blank before spinning around.

It’s Angelica, thank fuck, and Maria feels her shoulders drop again just a little, straightens her posture and relaxes her neck. “Hey!” she says, and it’s not even that fake. Angelica grins and Maria’s face moves from forced neutral to a half-smile, and it feels, if not totally safe, at least much safer than before.

“Hey! You’re here!” Angelica grins and brushes her hair behind her ears. She’s wearing lipstick, red and pretty, and black jean shorts probably totally inappropriate for this time of year. “The movie starts in, what, five minutes? Ten minutes?”

“Five,” Maria says, and walks over to the little ticket counter. “But they’re going to run ads for like fifteen minutes after the official starting time, so we can hopefully minimize ad time.” The people don’t crowd as tightly with two of them, and so they can buy tickets. The woman behind the counter is leaning against it and talking quietly to one of her friends, but she looks up as Maria and Angelica walk up.

“Tickets are eight bucks each, eleven for a 3D movie,” she says before turning back around, and Maria feels around in her purse for some cash. Angelica’s digging in her jacket pockets for money as well, and something dings in the back of Maria’s mind, _you invited her on this date Ria, shouldn’t you pay for both tickets at least? Isn’t that how it works?_

“Angie, I can totally cover both tickets,” Maria says, and Angelica looks up from her wallet, surprised.

“Oh, no, do you— it’s totally okay, don’t feel like you need to,” she says, and she’s apologizing again when she really doesn’t need to.

Maria sighs. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I wanna pay.” Angelica furrows her eyebrows and then nods.

Maria asks the woman behind the counter— _Nat,_ her nametag says— for two tickets to Carol and hands over a twenty. As Nat hands back four bucks and the tickets, Angelica says, “Can I pay for the food, then?”

They head over to the food counter and Angelica buys them a popcorn and a slushie, because “this shit is too overpriced for more than one of each”, as Ang said. She feels like a _teenager, holy shit,_ going to the movies with her crush and blushing and buying tickets and one popcorn to share. It’s embarrassing, too much to acknowledge, so Maria shoves the thought out of her head and quickly grabs the popcorn and slushie off the counter, giving the guy working the cash register a grin.

“We’re in Theater 3,” Angelica says, and someone checks their tickets before they head into the room. The commercials are rolling, like Maria thought they’d be, and they grab seats near the back ( _Teenager!_ Maria’s brain is screaming, and she shoves the thought away viciously) and sit down. Angelica is talking softly about the differences between different new blockbusters, something about the new Marvel flick, and Maria nods and laughs and grabs a handful of popcorn.

It’s dark, not too much visual stuff, and so Maria can focus on the fake scratchy red velvet covering the seats and the AC blowing and Angelica talking. She makes a soft remark about one of the commercials, some ridiculous a cappella shaving cream thing, and Angelica laughs and her heart swells. “Maria!” Angelica says excitedly as a new trailer comes on, and her name sounds pretty rolled through Angelica’s New York accent, a little nasally but nice. “The new Hunger Games movie is coming out soon, holy shit.”

“You’re excited for it?” Maria isn’t particularly hyped about it, and Jennifer Lawrence is dancing on screen in overdramatic eyeshadow and CGI explosions and it doesn’t look like a _bad_ movie, per se, just not a _good_ one.

“Eliza— my sister— she’s been into the Hunger Games for the longest time, has signed copies of the books and all that shit, always been super into this sort of thing, and she got me and our other sister into it.” Angelica’s really very excited about this, leg bouncing, and she reaches out and gives Maria’s hand a quick squeeze. It was unexpected, and Maria’s shoulders jump. “I’m glad we’re going to see Carol, though, I’ve been wanting to go and see it since, like, November. There are never any good movies out with gay girls in them, let alone starring celebrities.”

And sorry, Angelica just _held her hand._ Maria lets her hand fall back on her knee, because she’s never liked unexpected affection of any sort, let alone surprise physical stuff, so that should have been terrible, and instead it just feels sort of glowing and shaky and her heart is still pounding and her shoulders are tensing up like they do when she’s around people. It feels gold, and Angelica is still talking, looking at her with brown doe-eyes, and so she blinks and rubs her thumb against the fingers of her hand.

Another ridiculous ad pops up on the screen, for a new Adam Sandler movie or something. “Ten minutes into ads after the movie’s starting time. Yep, I called it,” Maria says, brushing her hair behind her ear and taking another handful of popcorn. “You think they’lll start playing  the actual movie any time soon?”

“I wish,” Angelica says, sipping the slushie and grabbing a handful of popcorn of her own. “But— oh, there it goes.” The trailer pops up, and thank _god_ the surround sound isn’t too overwhelmingly loud.

Angelica’s hand is in between the seats ( _teenagers,_ her brain is saying, _you’re acting like a high schooler)_ and Maria’s trying to focus on the first scene of the movie, because she’s going to _love_ this movie she knows but Angelica’s hand makes her feel a little shiny and a little golden and she’s just… comfortable. _Angelica wants to hold my hand, this perfectly put together girl wants to hold my hand, and— and she’s not going to hold my hand if I don’t want her to._

Angelica makes her feel brave, and she doesn’t want to be too bold or come on to Angelica, and oh, here’s a way to distance Angelica from James. Maria can initiate things, for once, maybe even talk about it.

The title comes up on the screen, and Maria takes a big breath and forces the words out of her, blushing so dark it’s probably visible even in the dim theater. “Angelica?” Angie turns her head to face her, and she’s so pretty, big eyes and soft shirt and one black bra strap visible, that suddenly it takes Maria’s breath away, “Can I hold your hand?” Angelica processes for a millisecond, so fast that Maria only has the time to think _pleaseyes_ two times, and then her face breaks in half and she’s grinning wide.

“Yeah,” Angelica says, smiling so big that Maria’s practically positive that she’s not faking it, and someone three rows back shushes them. Angelica rolls her eyes. “I’d like that,” she says, and she lets Maria reach out and grab her hand, nails painted red.

 _Teenagers!_ Maria’s brain says, and Maria mulls that over and accepts it. Carol gets out of her car on screen and Maria squeezes Angelica’s hand, which is soft and dry and barely even sweaty. Angelica squeezes back, and Maria is happy-blushing hard, might as well go for broke on gross teen crush emotions, and her brain just might short circuit if Angelica does that again.

Angelica shifts in her seat and grabs the slushie with her left hand, takes a sip still holding Maria’s hand. Maria grabs popcorn even more awkwardly, leaning over the armrest. She grins at Angelica. Angelica bites her lip and smiles back. Angie is blushing too.

The rest of the movie blurs by, Maria hyperaware of everything and not remembering more than five minutes total of the actual movie plot. (She’ll have to go back and see it again, oh _no,_ the horror.) But she gets most of the emotions, and when the credits start rolling, she’s choked up, still holding hands with Angelica. Ang _is_ crying, and not too quietly either, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her mascara is the tiniest bit smudged, and the two stay in the theater as most of the other people start to clear out. 

“Hey, Angie?” Angelica turns her head to look at Maria, and that’s not _fair_ , she can’t look that good crying. “You wanna stick around for the after-credits scene?” Angelica nods, and Maria smiles. She wants to kiss Angelica, suddenly, and it’s such a strange impulse that it takes her a while to process it.

“Is my eyeliner horribly fucked up?” Angelica asks, and Maria grins and nods and they both share a short laugh.

“I can get it for you,” Maria says, and she pulls a tissue out of her pocket and puts one hand on Angelica’s jaw and runs the other along her waterline, clearing the smudgy black makeup off her left eye and then her right. The credits are still rolling. “There we go, perfectamundo, beautiful.”

Angelica gives her a watery laugh again as Maria shoves the tissue into her pocket. “Thanks.” She stands up, extends her hand with towards Maria with furrowed eyebrows and head tilted sideways. _She’s asking,_ Maria thinks, somehow delighted, _she’s asking to hold my hand. Again!_ Maria tries to bite back a grin, unsuccessfully, and grabs Angelica’s hand.

They head out the movie theater in the rush of people, Maria’s shoulders tight but not unbearably so, still holding hands. Angelica remembers the way out, or maybe this is a movie theater she comes to often, because she makes the right-left-right turns out of the building and onto the street before stopping against the side of the theater. The wall of the theater building is  concrete, just far away enough from the big glass doors that people can’t easily see them.

“I don’t know a lot about… movie dates,” Angelica says, casually, leaning against the wall and running another finger under her eye to wipe away any more drippy makeup. They’re close enough to the wall that they’re not getting too many people yelling at them, and so they can stand still. “But this was fun, even if the movie was too sad.”

“Not enough lesbian movies,” Maria says, and yeah, she’s a fucking teenager, sue her. “And of the ones we do have, they’re all pretty similar.”

“But how many lesbian movies have Rooney Mara in them? One, that’s how many,” Angelica says. Maria’s hand is getting sweaty and warm, pressed up against Angelica’s, but there’s no way she’s letting go. Angelica tucks a lock of hair behind her ear with her free hand, looking just a bit troubled, and Maria goes to ask what’s up, what’s the matter, when—

“Can I kiss you?” Angelica asks, and Maria thinks she might just like watching Maria jumping in her skin, because holy _shit,_ that was upfront and unexpected and just enough off-time to throw her off guard, and she can feel herself flushing red and freezing in place like a deer in headlights. _Say something, Maria, come_ on.

“Like, now?” That sounds bitchy as it comes out of Maria’s mouth, and she blushes the slightest bit. “Not that that would be a problem, or anything—”

Angelica’s face somehow doesn’t heat  up. “Um. If that’s okay with you, yeah, I dunno, sorry—“

“Sorry, yes,” Maria says, but Angelica is still _apologizing,_ making excuses and trying very hard not to look upset about it and—

“I don’t know, sorry,” Angelica says, and once she gets going she just _keeps on talking_ , and it’s almost refreshing. “You’re pretty, sorry, I don’t know a lot about movie dates and I didn’t want to kiss you in the previews because that’s tacky and then I was crying half the movie and—“ She cuts herself off abruptly. “Nevermind, sorry, that’s really weird and creepy of me to say. I had a nice time.”

Maria’s never been good at this comforting business, but she _does want_ to kiss Angelica, which has been sort of skipped over here, and if she doesn’t say it now Angelica will do that thing where she navigates to the end of the conversation and says goodbye. “No, it wasn’t. I _do_ want to kiss you, Ang, I just sort of was surprised. I’m glad you asked.” It’s getting easier, this whole saying things she feels business. She feels brave. “Can I kiss you?” And she means it.

“If you want to,” says Angelica, who still looks sort of apologetic. A couple of people are looking at them strangely, hurrying by. “Yes, I mean absolutely yes, but if you feel like I pressured you into this—“

Maria leans in, one hand on Angie’s shoulder, snd presses their lips toogether. Her stomach is rolling and jumping, and she’s standing up tall and lipstick and pretty and she really does look very good, even with her mascara smudged, and Maria tilts her head to the side and  presses their lips together.

Her stomach is still twisting, but somehow she can breathe easier than before. Angelica’s lips are soft and sort of sticky with lipgloss and warm, one of her hands on Maria’s shoulder and the other on her cheek. Maria breathes in her nose and suddenly smiles, feeling her cheeks heat up even more. _I’m going to be blushing for the next year,_ she thinks as Angelica pulls away the littlest bit, her hand still on Maria’s face

“I like you a lot,” Angelica whispers, and they both laugh. 

“I kinda like you a lot, too,” Maria says, but not quite that cohesively because it keeps on getting interrupted by little spurts of breathy laughter.

They kiss again.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be updating this, like, once a week. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> (The painful, wonderful Maria fic is right here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6329674)


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